Troubleshooters 09 Hot Target

by Suzanne Brockmann

  SIXTEEN

  T hree minutes wasn’t a whole heck of a lot of time to get ready.

  Jane washed her face, looking up into the bathroom mirror with despair. She’d rinsed off the mascara tracks made by her tears, but her eyes still looked swollen and red, as if she’d been crying.

  Which she had been.

  Shit.

  She held a cool cloth to them for as long as she dared, then quickly applied some makeup. If she kept the lights dim, Cosmo would never know.

  She did a quick circuit of her bedroom, scooping several days’ worth of dirty laundry off the floor, throwing it into the closet, kicking one last sock underneath the bed.

  She caught sight of herself in the mirror over her dresser—yeesh. She knew he liked her like this—dressed down, casual—but her skinned knee and elbow made her look like a clumsy twelve-year-old. And he was not going to like the bandage on her arm. Not at all. It stood out, pristine and white, against the dark of her gray sweat shorts and blue tank.

  She wasn’t going to be able to hide it. The only option was to make it less obvious.

  Or to distract the crap out of the man.

  Jane dug through her dresser drawers, coming up with yoga pants just long enough to cover her knees and a tank that were both gleaming white. She quickly changed, shoved her other clothes under the bed, and . . .

  Okay. Without underwear, this might be a little too distracting. She put her favorite beach shirt on over it—lightweight, white, and long-sleeved . . . Perfect. It even covered the bandage.

  She was brushing her hair when she heard the front door open, along with the now-familiar sounds of the alarm system as Cosmo punched in his entry code.

  She went into the hall and out onto the landing, and he glanced up at her as he . . . Went into the kitchen?

  Jane had to laugh. Well, wasn’t that terribly anticlimactic? So much for the great big running-through-the-field-in-slow-mo, Hollywood-moment kiss.

  “Hey.” She heard him greet Murphy.

  “Yo, Cosmic-wonder! I didn’t expect you ’til later, man.”

  “Change of plans,” Cosmo said. “I just wanted to let you know I’m in the house. I may end up, uh, crashing here tonight. You know, downstairs.”

  Not if she had anything to say about that.

  “No problemo. Just . . . if you’ve got a sec, you might want to go up and give a howdy to Jane-ski. Was her light on? Is she still awake?”

  Yes, she most certainly was.

  “I guess Patty forgot to tell her that we changed shifts,” Murphy told Cos, “and even though she was really nice about it, I could tell she was a little upset when she found out. It threw her, you know? She’s had a tough day—go be nice to her, okay?”

  Go be nice to her. Jane had to laugh. God, she could only hope.

  Cosmo laughed, too. “I’ll do my best.”

  Oh, my.

  And there he came. Out of the kitchen, over to the stairs. He was moving swiftly now—definitely a man on a mission. Up the stairs. She retreated back into the darkness of her office, her heart pounding. Any second now, and he was going to grab her and kiss her and . . .

  “White’s not a real good color for lurking in the shadows,” he said, slowing down. “Unless you’re not trying to hide.”

  “I’m not trying to hide.” Her voice sounded out of breath, as if she were the one who’d just double-timed it up the stairs.

  He stopped just outside of her door. The hall light was behind him, and the shadows made it impossible to see his face. “May I come in?”

  “Please.” Jane switched on the desk lamp. That was better. She turned and he was closing the door behind him.

  Locking it.

  He was wearing the same clothes—T-shirt and cargo pants—that he’d had on over at the hospital. But he must’ve taken a shower right before she called, because his hair was still damp. He’d shaved, too—his lean face was smooth.

  He looked delicious.

  He was looking at her as hungrily as she was looking at him, and when their eyes met, he smiled and said, “This is a little weird, huh?”

  Jane nodded, backing away. Please, God, don’t let her lunge at him and start tearing off his clothes before they’d had at least a half of a conversation. “Thank you for coming over,” she managed to say.

  His smile faded as he watched her put distance between them. “If this is too weird,” he finally said, “or if you’ve changed your mind—”

  “No!”

  He smiled again at her ferocity and stepped toward her, and . . .

  She hastily crossed to her refrigerator, which was safely behind the desk. “Do you want a—”

  “No,” he said, and they were back to staring at each other. “Thank you,” he added. “Why are we being so polite, and why are you running away from me?”

  “I’m afraid to get too close, because I really want to, like, jump you. Really,” she added for emphasis.

  “Okay, good,” he said. “I thought for a minute you were suddenly shy, and that was freaking me out.”

  She laughed—a loud burst of disbelief. “Shy? Me? Oh, Cos, no, I’m just standing here, hoping and waiting for the perfect moment to say . . . well, see, it’s something I’m really dying to say to you . . .”

  Cosmo, a true gentleman, lobbed the perfect straight line back to her, like a big fat slow pitch dead over home plate. “I’m listening.”

  Jane smiled at him. And took off her overshirt. The look on his face, the sheer heat in his eyes made her giddy and she laughed. It was possible he didn’t even see the bandage on her arm, especially when she kept it kind of hidden behind her.

  She waited a moment or two, until he was looking back into her eyes, until she was sure he really was listening, and then she let him have it. “ ‘Do me, big daddy, ‘til the cows come home.’ ”

  Jane was pretty certain that there was nothing on earth quite as satisfying as the sound of a quiet man laughing his ass off.

  Cosmo laughed so hard he had to sit down, and she laughed, too, just watching him. It was then he blew her away just as thoroughly.

  “I am so fucking crazy about you,” he told her.

  And Jane had to sit down, too, but it wasn’t because she was laughing. “Really?” It came out as little more than a breath of air.

  But he heard her. And he nodded. “Pardon my language. I didn’t mean to—”

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to apologize for that one,” she said.

  He wasn’t done. “I’ve never met anyone that I’ve wanted to be with as much as I want to be with you, Janey,” he told her.

  Aw, God, don’t cry, don’t cry. Jane had to blink hard, because damn it, she was welling up all over again.

  And he still wasn’t done. “Remember how I said it was stupid how, in the movies, the bodyguard always falls for the woman he’s supposed to be protecting? Well, it’s not stupid that he’d fall for her. Not if she’s anything like you—successful and smart and funny and beautiful. What’s stupid is she’s single, you know? That she doesn’t have a boyfriend or a husband. Like, what? She’s just sitting around, being wonderful, waiting for the chump of a bodyguard to show up?” He shook his head. “That’s why I believed it when I saw that picture of you and Strauss. It just didn’t seem possible you weren’t already committed to someone else. I thought . . . especially when you started in on the whole Sophia thing . . .”

  “I thought you liked her,” Jane said. “And I wanted those reporters to leave you alone.” Reporters who would be following him around again if any hint of this came out.

  Cosmo knew what she was thinking. “I can handle reporters.”

  They were sitting there, across her desk from each other, as if they were having a business meeting. She reached for him and he sat forward and intertwined their fingers, just smiling at her, as if this was all he’d come rushing over here for—a chance to hold her hand.

  But then he caught sight of her bandage and frowned. “How’s you
r arm?”

  She met his gaze. “The doctor said I just might live,” she told him, “if I can find someone really courageous and very strong to have sex with me all night long.”

  He grinned at her again, shaking his head. “Seriously, Jane . . .”

  “Seriously, Cos,” she said. “I had six stitches. My arm’s a little sore. But it’s nothing compared to—” She stopped.

  He knew, and finished for her. “The scare you had when you thought Decker—”

  Jane released his hand, stood up. She’d already told him too much. Somehow it was different when she’d thought he was only interested in being friends. “Is it okay if we don’t talk about that?”

  “Of course,” he said, but she could tell that he was worried about her.

  This was supposed to be fun. She was supposed to be fun. She wanted to make him laugh again.

  He stood, too, watching her, his concern still apparent in his eyes.

  She wanted it to vanish. She supposed she could have walked around the desk and kissed him, but . . .

  God, first kisses, first times . . . They were so tricky. There was so much pressure for everything to be perfect.

  “So I’ve been reading about Navy SEALs,” she told him, taking as wide a berth around him as possible, making sure she didn’t get too close as she headed for the bedroom. “You know, for my future movie-of-the-week bio-pic. And I have some questions for you.”

  He laughed. Score.

  “Yeah, I know you’re probably thinking, ‘What the fuck?’ I know you wouldn’t say that in front of me, but you’re thinking it. According to my research, that’s something sailors like to say, and SEALs are sailors. So you’re thinking, you know, ‘WTF, I thought we were going to do the horizontal mambo, and she has questions?’ But really, I’m just keeping the conversation going until we can get into the bedroom, because I know that as soon as I touch you, I’m going to go up in flames, and I really don’t want our first time to be on my office floor. Or on my desk. I mean, how would I ever get anything done again with that kind of vibe coming off of it?”

  “Jane . . .”

  “What I can’t figure out—and maybe you could help me with this—is the difference between a goatfuck and a clusterfuck. Every time I read anything about SEALs, about an operation that went wrong, it’s referred to as a clusterfuck. Except sometimes it’s a goatfuck. Which is worse? And is there some kind of chart that lets you know which one it is? ‘HQ, this is Lieutenant Jones. We have a clusterfuck—no, wait, make that a goatfuck. Repeat, goatfuck. There are only seven terrorists hiding in the woods, not eight.’ ”

  Cosmo caught up with her just as she went through the bedroom door, his fingers warm against her arm. “Jane.”

  She turned to him. “I guess the bedroom floor would be—” Okay, she was going to say, but she didn’t get a chance to finish because he kissed her.

  Thoroughly.

  He didn’t hold back. He covered her lips with his own and kissed the hell out of her. His tongue was in her mouth like it belonged there, and oh, sweet God, it most certainly did.

  It was a kiss of possession, hot, hard, and demanding, but the demand he was making was not for her to submit. On the contrary. It was clear that he wanted her to give as good as she got.

  It was an open invitation for equal opportunity passion.

  So she took it and ran, angling her head, giving him better access to suck the very soul out of her body, so she could kiss the hell out of him, too—harder, deeper, longer. . . . I see your bid and I raise it a million.

  He started making a sound and it took her a moment to realize that he was laughing—which left her thrilled and terrified, because, dear God, she wanted him to kiss her like this forever.

  But nothing could ever really last that long.

  Sure enough he pulled away, and there they were, both breathing hard. But—wonder of wonders!—they weren’t on the floor.

  Only because he was holding on to her shoulders with both of his hands, keeping her at a distance. She was gripping his arms—they were all she could reach. He was solid and smooth beneath her fingers.

  It didn’t seem possible, but it had to be—they’d just had zero body contact. During that entire long, amazing kiss, he’d touched her only with his mouth.

  Imagine what he could do to her with his hands, with his—

  “Here’s what we’re going to do,” he told her now. “I’m going to let go of you. We’re going to walk over to your bed in an orderly fashion, and I’m going to help you out of your clothes very slowly and carefully, without hurting your arm or pulling off that bandage. Jane, are you listening?”

  Jane nodded. “Orderly. I can do orderly. But I should probably also tell you that I am so lying, and that I have a new goal in life, which is to get you inside of me as quickly as humanly possible.”

  He laughed, a hot burst that matched the fire in his eyes, but then he got very serious. “Here’s the thing,” he said. “I would rather not make love to you if there’s a chance that I might hurt you. I would rather wait. I’d rather walk out the door, get into my truck and drive away—cursing the entire time, yeah, but . . . So unless we can do this—”

  “We can,” she told him. “Look.” She let go of his arms and backed away, trying to appear orderly. She’d do damn near anything to keep him from leaving.

  Cosmo released her, and she kept going. “I am moving slowly and carefully,” she said, as she reached down and pulled the hem of her shirt up and over her head, as she stretched the fabric so it didn’t come anywhere close to her bandage.

  Of course, after she was done, she was standing in front of him bare-breasted, and the look in his eyes was . . .

  Jane turned away, arms across herself. “No fair looking at me like that until we’re on the bed, and we’re done with the slow and careful part.”

  “Whoa,” he said. “Jane. There’s no slow and careful part. Or maybe I should say that if we do this, there’s no part that’s not going to be slow and careful.”

  Still with the “if.”

  As for the slow and careful, he was so wrong about that. But Jane didn’t bother to argue, because he was taking off his own shirt, and then his pants, and . . . oh, my God. Jane started to laugh.

  It wasn’t what she’d normally do when faced with a lover’s naked body for the very first time, but there was no way Cosmo would misunderstand and suffer a blow to his self-esteem.

  Not a chance.

  “It’s when you’re not talking that you’re most dangerous,” he said, glancing over at her. “I know what you’re thinking—”

  “Then you know that all language has left me except for please, please, please. . . .” She started for him.

  He moved out of range and growled at her. He actually made a sound that was half growl, half laughter. “Stop or I’ll leave.”

  “Yeah, you look like you really want to leave.” She took another step toward him—just a little one, testing him.

  He took a step back. “I didn’t say a word about want. I’m serious, Jane. We do this my way, or I’m out of here.”

  She lifted her foot.

  He picked up his pants.

  She backed down. There were other ways to win this game. She wriggled out of her yoga pants and climbed onto the bed, arranging herself artfully. “Oh, wait,” she said.

  She slid off the bed and rummaged through her bedside cabinet, searching for a condom, making sure he continued to get an eyeful.

  He was laughing. “You’re making this so much harder than it—”

  “Good, the harder the better.” She turned to face him, triumphant, condom in hand. “Since you can read my mind, you also know that I love it hard.” She put the condom between her thumb and first finger, flicking it toward him like the paper footballs she used to make in seventh grade.

  He caught it. Good reflexes. “Jane.”

  “Love it,” she emphasized.

  “I have an idea.”

  “Love. It
. Love-it.”

  Cosmo had the world’s best poker face. He was pretending that he was unmoved by everything she was doing and saying. His body, however, was not as good at bluffing. “Get back on the bed,” he said evenly.

  She gave up seductive and tried reasonable. “Cos. You’re not going to hurt me. Look, my arm is very far from my—”

  “Get on the bed.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Okay, I have an idea, too. We could tie my wrist to the headboard, so that we both know where my arm is at all times, and then we could go ape-shit wild and—”